My Anniversary Cake...That I Can't Eat

Now that Matt is over his blood pressure test hysteria, he has purchased an anniversary cake...uh...wtf? It says "5 years outa the... KLINK???" C'mon Matt, it was just a shelter for cats and dogs. No prison at all. They were good to me there.

Matt says it was a tasty cake, but whoever wrote on it has bad handwriting. And who put those fake flowers there? Matt didn't order those. It's made out of chocolate fudge frosting, black cherry filling, and chocolate cake inside. And Matt drove all the way to Lancaster, PA to THIS PLACE. I can't even pronounce it.

As usual I am not allowed to partake in the eating of this poo-colored treat. And why would I want to? Matt got me some moist, canned yummy food for me to celebrate...and a new toy that lights up and flashes. That was good for about 10 minutes.

New Video From Simon's Cat: The Box

Here's another cartoon from Simon's Cat, who I don't find the least bit amusing. Matt, of course, DOES, and that's why I'm posting it. I would never destroy property of another like this foolish feline, tearing and ripping apart a toy like that... unless it had catnip inside. Then I might... ooorrrrrrrr if it was used in transporting leaking cans of sausage meat, or sardines, or fish heads, or....

Happy Fifth Anniversary!!!

It has been 5 years as of today! Five years out of the insane asylum with all those abused, lonely strays all clamoring to get the attention of anyone remotely interested in adopting a friend.

When I saw Matt coming I leapt to the front of the crowd of cats, pushing them out of the way, and furiously brushing up against his leg (actually, I did no such thing. I ran and hid from him --he's very, very tall, you see). He reached down and picked up Cookie, a cat looking much like me, and she growled. So he quickly put her down again and just stood there. Then the ladies that ran the joint grabbed other cats to show him, but he wasn't interested in them.

He walked about here and there, finally making his way to the back of the room where I was. I looked up at him and meowed. He ignored me. Then one of the ladies brought me over to the shelf and Matt came over and checked me out. I purred and meowed and brushed against his hand, and then I jumped over to him on his shoulders. I've no idea what possessed me to do that, but I guess I wanted to be tall, too.

"We have a percher!" One of the ladies shouted and giggled. So Matt had the lady take me out for a test drive since I would be going with Matt on the road. He wanted to see how I reacted to riding in a machine. I didn't like it, but I didn't puke or cry, or even scratch anyone. I just laid low and waited for it to end. Then they brought me back and I ran and hid under the table.

Next thing I know I'm being selected and put in a box with little holes for the tall fellow to take home. Finally,...after 11 months of living in a cage most of the time, I had a home. But I had no idea what was going to come next...

I got used to the stop and go, sway to the right and left, and close quarters with a human full time, after only a day or two. The first day I hid my head under Matt's pillow on his bed. But after that I road on the dashboard mostly, feeling awestruck by the ever changing view. Then after a while it didn't seem to change all that much. Same stuff each day. But after 5 years of this I wish Matt would get another job. I like being home with all my toys and want to stay here.

Things Could Be Worse...

We're sitting in New Stanton, PA, waiting for the lumpers to unload our trailer load full of Clorox products, and pondering the meaning of life. For me, it's being able to flop my gloriously lazy, furry body on Matt's pillows and laptop computer case and have no care what-so-ever in the world.

For Matt, it's to pass his blood pressure test tomorrow morning. He's fretting. He almost always passes it, but he frets anyway. It must be the "almost" part that gets him fretting.

But I don't have to worry about such things, only that Matt doesn't abandon me like my last owner. This would mean that I would starve and slowly wither away and die. I would have no predisone administered to me to reduce my inner inflammation, allowing me to eliminate waste matter (poo) properly. In laycats terms, I'd get bound up with a thousand fur balls. It wouldn't matter what someone fed me, or what wonderful dumpster I'd eat out of. Oh, I miss dumpsters...like a grande buffet: dead rats, fish heads, and thousands of other surprises just waiting for me to sample them.

So I lay there....and wait for the next bout of excitement...or the next meal...or the next fly to buzz by me...and I just live.

iPhone Submerged And I'm In The Doghouse

Sorry for being away again for so long, but I was being punished for misbehaving a couple of weeks ago....

All I did was lay on the bed. That was all. I do it all the time when Matt's driving because the bumps are softer on me when I'm on the mattress. But this one time,...just this one time, Matt left something on the bed near my feet. It was located near the edge of the bed, so being a wee bit OCD, I beat it with my tail for a while...but it wouldn't move. So after a bit I started to nudge it with my back feet. It was small and black and kinda rubbery, like it had a skin of rubber or something. Then I realized Matt had left his iPhone there. So I kicked it harder until it fell off the edge.

I wasn't certain, but it seemed like I heard a small splash after it fell off the edge of the bed. "Oh no," I thought, "not my water dish!"

But sure enough, after about 86 miles of driving, Matt wondered aloud where his "&%$#" phone was, and pulled into the next rest area to find out. This was on I-77 just north of the North Carolina line, inside Virginia. He looked and looked for it while I stayed stationary on the bed, flopping my tail repeatedly as I do when I'm feeling anxious.

Finally he saw it laying face down in my water dish, half submerged in now undrinkable water. He got really angry, though I should have been the one who was angry since my water was now foul. He took it out, looked at me, then at the phone, then at me again, then he got angry. "No more blogging for a month!!!" he shouted.

So then he took the phone, dried it off on the outside, complained there was water underneath the glass front, tried to shake the water out, then toweled it dry again, then shut it off and put it away.

Two days later it worked as good as new, but I was still in the doghouse. But now I am allowed to blog once again because I apologized, and I caught two flies that were buzzing Matt.

Boy, those iPhones were built pretty good.

Unsafe Driving All Too Common

Unsafe Driving... - A funny movie is a click away

This video is not for the faint of heart, but watching it could save your life...

Cracked Seats and Drunken Loaders...Must be New York

The day before yesterday was interesting from where I was sitting, but very trying for poor Matt.

I remember we got up very early and drove to NE New Jersey where we waited and waited to be unloaded, and hearing Matt complaining about having to use a broken litter box seat. I don't know why he can't just aim-and-drop like me, but he has to sit down sometimes. Here's the picture on the left. Hey, at least they scoop out the litter between usages, right?

Then we had to drive through New York City on the big bridge, and then take another big bridge to a long island called Long Island to deliver more stuff. But then Matt cussed and swore and got angry when they sent him a message for him to go to Brooklyn to pick up a load. Traffic was horrible and we showed up 3 minutes late, so no detention pay for the upcoming 5 hour ordeal.

It was every-cat-for-himself as far as backing into a dock. Matt had to move his truck 4 times before he could check in at the shipping office because the street was so crowded with busses and cars and trucks. We were next to some kind of bus turn-around and it was BUSY.

2 hours later when Matt finally backed in, the guys who were loading trucks already started drinking beer. Matt's loader was drunk and stumbling before he was even half way done loading our trailer, and the idiot started falling down and tipping over pallets full of boxes instead of loading them up. At one point the guy got into such a giggle-fit that he pulled down his pants and exposed himself to his giggling buddies. But the worst part is that when the boss came down and saw all of this he simply threw up his arms and said, "I can't control this guy!" But he did nothing.

It didn't take long before Matt was running out of hours on the 14 hour rule thingy. That means that 14 hours after starting work, ie, driving or loading like at 5am,...he would have to park for the day before 7pm even if he sat and rested for a few hours. The 14 hour clock never stops. And if Matt were to drive anyway and get caught, he would face a stiff fine and possible imprisonment. Nice, huh? The drunkard got done loading at 6:45pm and Matt had to make a mad dash for New Jersey where the truck parking was. We certainly couldn't park for the night in this particular area of Brooklyn. We would get towed if we were lucky. So Matt enacted the safe-haven rule that, according to his safety department, says he can drive over hours only if searching for a safe haven at which to park. Fortunately it only took a half hour to cross two other bridges and get to the Vince Lombardi service plaza on the turnpike in NJ. And all of it is logged for the D.O.T..

As for the loader,... the safety department suggested phoning 9-1-1 with regards to the "exposure" incident; but if Matt had done that we never would have gotten out of there. And Matt is too nice a guy to "clock" the guy, though I would have scratched his thing right off if he'd flashed me and giggled. And that was our day, Thursday.

Making Progress

It would appear that Matt has created a way to limit my chances of escape! He has instituted some sort of force-field, blocking my access to the button thingy that makes the see-through-wall-thingy go up and down. This vexes me an awful friggin' lot, and causes my teeth to strike together fiercely. But I am reassured that due to the bubble, tape, and velcro, he won't have to put me in the kennel in those all-too-frequent cases when the batteries run low at 4am and he has to start the truck to recharge them. The truck has been off at night because of some new human technolo-thingy that heats or cools the truck interior not requiring idling of the engine-like-object called the engine.

That white thing is just there to make my litter box smell better to Matt and any mechanics that sniff around looking for an excuse to have me removed for stinking up the truck.

It's nice not being stuck inside the little prison cell every night. But those batteries must be getting shot or going bad or something. Matt will check on that after I give him other work to do, like cleaning the poop out of my litter box, and cleaning up my vomit from mere moments ago, and taking the sticky-roller and going after my loose hair on the rug and seats and bed and his pillow. Since it got hotter I am shedding more.

Ick!!! Back On The Road. Vacation Over!

Whaaa... Are we back on the road already? Vacation over? Crap!

Yeah, it's over and I gotta go bumpty-bump all day long. Then whenever Matt has to idle the engine to charge up the battery things for the cooler and stuff, I gotta cool my jets in the kennel. Back to prison. That's what it feels like.

Last week we spent the night in Mississippi, the land of mosquitos, and Matt got bit about 50 times on his legs. Even in the truck with the doors shut, those little blood-suckers were flying around like they owned the place. Matt was clapping his hands in the air and killing them for hours. Still, when we went to bed, there were still a few wily ones flying around, too quickly for the clapping. I couldn't help because my specialty is in catching flies. Mosquitos just don't seem enticing to me. Go figure.

Yesterday Matt stopped at Wally-World and bought some OFF. Yeah, the bug spray for humans to spray on themselves. But Matt also sprayed it all over the truck. Later on that night I puked...likely from the vapors. But the mosquitos hidden in the nooks and crannies fell dead.

A few days ago I saw Laredo,TX for the first time. We didn't go too close to the border, but I got the gist of things when we went through the border-patrol stop. Lots of barking dogs and stern looks. Sure looks like those guys are working hard. I hid under the bunk until Matt told me not to. He said that's the first place they look. Matt is always looking out for me.

Here's The Cake!

Here's Matt's cake!

Big friggin' deal. I can't have any. I couldn't even get close enough to scratch the sides with my poopy paws just to taste the buttermilk. Yes, that's right. The frosting is dark chocolate, butter-cream from that Linda lady in Mt. Joy, PA where she makes cakes for evil people like Matt who doesn't share with cats.

It took 4 days for that slob to eat his precious cake, slurping and belching as he wolfed it down his throat. He said the middle layer was separated by a peanut butter moose or something. Mooses bite! I hope he got bit, alright. Devil's chocolate in the cake, and dark chocolate buttermilk frosting on the outside with green trim as you can see. What a pig. He kept going on and on about how he couldn't leave it out or the whole thing would melt into a pile because it wasn't artificial or something. And then he had to drive with the A/C on full blast in the heat for almost an hour! Who gives a rats bungie? Not me. I don't care. Can you tell? Happy Birthday and congratulations to Matt and not me, even though as you can see, my name is on the stupid thing along side his.

Sure Feels Good To Be Back Home Again

We made it home finally...

After being stuck near Poughkeepsie, NY (actually, it was Newburgh...but Poughkeepsie gets more laughs, and it's nearby!), we finally got a load down into Pennsylvania where Matt began to unload everything from the truck cabin during a light rain. Lots of swearing ensued,... some by Matt himself. The truck had to be cleared out so it could be taken to the place where the accident damage would be fixed. Red tape wasn't enough to fix this one. A whole new driver-side sleeper panel needs to be installed. So things are kinda cluttered in our apartment for the next two weeks we're off.

Matt has a huge to-do list of things to do that need doing, so he will be doing his things while I watch him do them and try to keep out of the way, lest things fall on top of me and crush my small, furry head. Ouch.

Matt has been out a lot lately doing errands, like updating the safety and emissions test on his car. This time he took it to Jiffy Lube to have done. But after passing with flying colors the last two years, this time problems were found safety-wise. But the guys at Jiffy Lube knew exactly where to have these items fixed with little or no waiting. So he went and did it for around $200: exhaust flex tubing, two u-hangers and some other thingy that kept the catelitic converter from falling on the ground or something. Then got his stickers, so all is good now with the car.

My self-indulgent manservant is ordering himself a birthday cake with shamrocks on it, because he was unable to properly celebrate our birthday on it's proper date due to Lent and job qualification issues (see further down). My name will be on the cake with his, but I will not be allowed to have any...at all. So what's the point? I dunno. But he feels like celebrating belatedly his birthday, the fact that I can stay in the truck, the fact we got a new truck, the fact that the bugs are mostly out of the new truck (yeah, right), the fact that he passed his DOT physical without bloodpressure meds, the fact that the doctor gave him a two-year certificate instead of the usual one year because Matt's own doctor wrote a note saying "no longer diagnosed with hypertention" AND no more meds are taken that would put Matt at risk for hypoglycemia, the fact that Matt has lost lots of weight and is down to the mid 260's in poundage (he is after all, 6'5" tall!), and the fact that he made up with a high-ranking clergy person in Philadelphia whom he offended back in '04. All that and more requires a custom-made cake with shamrocks on it, I guess. And he's driving several miles to get it from Linda, who makes these in her home. The pictures of her creations look enticing, even to me. But with no bloody birds or shredded mice on the surface, I doubt I'd be interested...

Now Matt is talking about going into New York on Saturday just to go to church... What's wrong with this guy? We have several churches here, and the roofs don't leak. I dunno...

Broke Down Again, This Time In Rochester, NY

Looks like we are broke down again! This time the bunk climate control unit has decided to stop working after only a week and a half. Freightliner Cascadias really suck bigtime!

That's me sitting behind Matt's computer on the bed. And that's my cruddy-looking litter box I've been doing my business in for the past 4 and a half years. As you can see, it's had better days. Maybe now that it looks like I may be staying a while, Matt will shell out some green and buy me a nice, new one. Don't hold your breath. He says "as long as it doesn't leak, there's no point in buying a new one."

So we sit...and wait at a motel for a part that's been backordered due to its popularity since the same problems are happening in so many of these new, poorly-built trucks. But don't expect a full-blown recall or anything.

Naked Picture Of Jane Fonda!!!

Although I am ashamed to do this, it is needed to bolster my readership after a long hiatus. Yes, I have a naked picture of Jane Fonda. Here she is in all of her glory.

She looks kinda angry, like she hasn't been petted in a while. Perhaps some hairball treats are in order, as she looks rather unkempt. I would expect her to lick herself to smooth her fur. I doubt she could reach her own butt. I can reach mine, though. All a part of being a superior feline like myself. I wonder what kind of litter she uses... Perhaps I should inquire on her website...if I can find it without opposing thumbs...

She also looks rather cold, like someone stole her raincoat. Poor, poor girl. That must be what turned her from a fun-loving sex kitten to an angry, man-hating feminist, so angry in fact that she hated our soldiers to the point of betraying them in a visit to North Vietnam during the war. That's what Matt says, anyway, and insists he saw it on the History Channel.

Standing Cats Go Against Everything We Hold Dear

Okay, it looks like we're posting more on this blog now than Matt's other one. But that's okay. It has been a very long dry spell and we are due for a bunch of posts.

With that said, I must point out the fact that foreign cats are evolving ahead of us American cats in that they are learning to stand on their back legs for extended periods of time. Personally I feel that Standing Cats are anathema or some kind of abomination. We do not beg on our haunches like drooling canines! We are cool beasts who sashay around the room brushing into anything that pleases us. This is our way. We are not trained monkeys. We do what we want.

Okay, I will stand for a short period to get treats, but I scratch and claw to get them after about 5 seconds. It's just not natural to stand and wave with a fore-paw at birds outside. They'll think I've gone soft in the head and swoop down on me or something. And then...I'll show them a thing or two...the fluttering little bastards. I'll scratch and claw them and bite their little heads off and leave their bodies on doorsteps and the end of beds near the post with blood and other effluence dripping on the floor below.... Oh yes... if Matt would only let me go hunting once in a while....

I Escaped...For A Little While

I almost got away...for a time....on my own. But Matt knew my weaknesses!

I guess you already know we have a new truck. And like a anything new, it must be tested for weaknesses of its own to see if I can break out of it and run free!!!!

And I did.... for a short spell.

The freightliner cascadia has a few loopholes through which pets can flee, and I found one. The driver's seat, when raised to its driving height, offers space through which a cat or small dog can race under and out to be free free free!!!!...if the door is open for the driver to talk to a pedestrian. Or if the driver wants more fresh air than opening a window can avail.

I discovered this myself and dashed outside to the free air! And I ran and ran...until I heard Matt making smooching noises and shaking my jar of treats... Oh bliss! Treats!...for me!!! I ran back to him meowing and he grabbed me and stuck me back into the truck. He didn't even give me any treats. Yeah, see if that works again next time. We'll see.

Good thing I didn't get run over and squished. Now Matt has stuffed a large pillow under the seat so I can't see out and make my escape. I must find other ways. Yes. I must find them soon.

Brand New Truck!!! Oops!, Someone Already Hit It!

It has happened... Well, a lot has happened, actually.

For some reason Matt's company decided to trade several 2006 trucks in early at only around 450,000 miles on the odometer. Matt and I were assigned a brand-spankin'-new, red, 2011 Freightliner Cascadia two days ago. Hooray! Never have I experienced the smells of a factory new semi truck with only 19 miles on it. Quite an experience for this aging cat. And to think that only 8 months ago Matt and I thought we would have to part company due to anti-idling laws and our company's seemingly rigid pet policy.

Now the bad news. And it's mounting. We drove only about 242 miles to North Platte, NE from our company terminal where we got the truck before realizing some bugs that had to be fixed. Unfortunately they weren't the kind of juicy, crunchy bugs with wings in which I occasionally indulge, but technical crapola that caused us to go to the nearest Freightliner shop to have it fixed. A part was ordered to arrive Saturday so we spent the night Friday evening at the nearby Love's Travel Plaza.

At around 9 or 10pm we heard a loud scrape-crunch noise on our driver-side caused by some 4-month rookie driver whose passenger wife was too lazy to get out and spot for him to make sure he backed in next to us safely. Now he will likely lose his job, and we will have lots of downtime getting this damage fixed! See photos. So now while we waited for the technical stuff to get fixed, we looked forward to going back to the terminal and wait for them to do the body work. But they told us to wait until the middle of May when Matt and I take our vacation to have it fixed, since it would be at least a 1 week job. So we get to drive around showing off our new accident, while everyone thinks Matt probably caused it himself. Lovely. Oh well, everything has its price.

The part that sucks the most for me....is all the time I'm spending locked up in my kennel. All day while Matt transfered all his junk from one truck to the other, most of the day while we waited to be told what was needed to fix the truck, the day following the accident while we waited for UPS to deliver the part we needed, while the damage was being assessed at the corporate terminal by honchos of note, etc... It's a wonder I don't start making messes in this thing. Glad I have a towel in here...

Today we're in Ohio, on our way to Rochester, NY to deliver Monday (too much time to deliver), so we can get a load through home to have the nearby terminal also assess the damage and order parts and panels. Phew! Lots to do when rookies hit our truck!

Another Cartoon From Simon's Cat

As most of you well know, Matt is a big fan of Simon's Cat (though personally I find him to be a frightful bore and hardly to be believed) and demands I post whatever the latest cartoon of his to be. So here it is.

Of course that bird would have been dead within a few seconds had he pelted ME with a snowball!

It Would Appear I Get To Stay After All.....Most Likely....

Although I have known for several weeks, I wanted some time to go by just in case my employer changed their minds. But it seems to be that at moderate cost (to be explained later), there is no immediate need for me to find a new home. In fact I might be around next Christmas after all, provided I don't sneak out of the truck again, or get mauled by large dogs, or choke on my own vomit, or call Matt names again, or find a way to jump out of our 3rd story window at home, or jump out of the truck while it's in motion (say...62 mph or so), or anything like that. Now,...if only I could figure out how to work Matt's stereo....

Here are the rules of Matt's employer's new pet policy (subject to change at their friggin' whimsy):

1. Truck must be kept clean at all times. No exceptions. This was going to be a problem so long as I used clay kitty litter, but since switching to Yesterday's News there is virtually no tracking of anything or dust getting clogged in air filters.
2. Matt must pay for every air filter change. That means parts AND labor. Air filter refers to in-cab air filters, not the engine filters.
3. Pets are not allowed in any company buildings, even when trucks are worked on. This means that even in sub-zero weather, I have to go outside with Matt and wait for hours and hours for the work to be done, or else get a motel that allows pets, or take my chances at a pet motel where I usually go berserk in a cage and try to savage all humans who come near me.
4. If in the event that blah blah effects blah blah, then blah blah blah etc..... Okay you really don't need to read the rest of the crapola, but basically Matt can be assigned a brand new truck even though he has me with him now. He just has to pay for a lot of crap he didn't have to pay for before. That's all.
   

Our Last Christmas Together (Probably)

When people out in the trucking world walk up to you and ask you why you aren't blogging so much anymore, it's time to post something. Not that total strangers are really doing this, but it's fun to pretend...

Well, another Christmas will arrive in a few hours... This means very little to me personally, since Christmas is a human kinda thing. But often times it results in me getting a bunch of treats from my manservant. Please don't tell Matt I already know he's giving me "Happy Hips" treats this year. Lovely, lovely chicken jerky treats with glucosamine and condroyton for well-lubed joints, which come in handy when you spend your days in a moving vehicle.

It may well be our last Christmas together unless Matt can pull a juicy rabbit out of a hat. In spite of those incriminating emails exchanged by global warming scientists, it doesn't look like those idiot state legislators will change their stupid anti-idling laws for trucks, which, if they did would mean no APU's or trucks that have onboard heaters sensitive to pet dander. Please don't get me started on stupid, chicken-little humans...

Matt and I will do our best to enjoy our last Christmas together before he searches for a new home for me, and I come off the road at last. I will miss Matt dearly, but not the truck so much. There just isn't enough room in there for me to run around. Climbing things is fun, but it's like a large prison cell. And I think Matt will miss me, too, but not my litterbox or scratchpost which take up what little space we have.

Parting will mean starting a new chapter in both our lives, which is both exciting and scary. Will my new man (or woman) servant remember to medicate me twice daily? Will he or she even remember to feed me twice daily? Will they scoop the litter out of my litterbox frequently? Will they go "eeeewwwwww!!!" when I lick my butt? One can never tell what the future holds.

Happy Anniversary! Four Years And Counting...

Today is the fourth anniversary of my adoption of Matt as my owner, which I transacted at the Center For Animal Health And Welfare (formerly known as SPCA of Northampton County) in short order after I wooed him mercilessly by showing him the  attention  which he so lacked.

Four years with Matt means four years living in a semi truck.  That means close quarter living conditions in all kinds of weather with the occasional trip home where my crow's nest awaits my passionate clawing.  Things are still up in the air as far as how much longer we will live together.  But it's been that way for a while now.  Matt's employer forced him to trade the old truck in sooner than expected.  And of course we were put in a crappy old truck (though not as old as the previous had become) because of little ol' me.  This one has only 384,000 miles on it, so is probably good for another year at least.  We can idle the truck in most places when it gets too cold or too hot at least until April or May of 2010.  Then we have to do it carefully.  By next Winter, though, I am no longer a truck rider, and I will be out with or without Matt.  We can survive a summer with little or no idling, but not a winter.  Read previous posts about the anti-idling laws stupid humans passed so far.  By next Winter I will be 8 and one half years old.

I've gotten thinner and probably won't live a full cat-life due to my annoying food allergy, for which I take Prednisone.  Perhaps I shall dwell on this earth only 2 or 3 more years tops.  So I am taking pictures with Matt's iPhone camera (does not require thumbs to use!) and getting the most out of life by severely damaging my toys.  No one knows what the future holds, but I thought I would at least bring everyone up to date on the present.  Have a great life...all 9 of them.

Number Of Options Is Declining

Sorry it has been so long since posting in my blog, but Matt hasnt wanted to deal with this since realizing I might have to grab my stick and handkerchief and hit the road like a hobo.

It was discussed between us that I might be okay at the shelter once I had to vacate the truck. But recently in the Atlanta area Matt had to drop me off at a pet resort for about 20 hours or so while he attended a safety meeting. Guess he wasn't allowed to idle the truck for A/C for me while he was in the all-day meeting, so I got to cool my claws in a large cage all day and night. I don't really remember much about what happened, except that I was really angry and tried to scratch everyone who came near me, even Matt when he picked me up. But I calmed down when he took me back out to the truck where everything was familiar. I guess I have gotten so used to things being the same all the time that I flip out over change. But the lady at the resort claimed I was upset over being caged. Hmmm. Is that not what they do at shelters? I seem to remember being caged at the shelter almost 4 years ago when Matt rescued me.

So Matt and I are still going over our options. The economy has tanked and freight is very slow, especially in the North East where we live. So much for a local driving job...

Thinking about getting Matt to create an advertisement of some kind offering me up for adoption and spreading it locally. Hate to resort to that so soon. Anybody got any ideas????

Anti-Idle Laws Mean I Go Back To The Shelter

Okay, time for me to put in my two cents about this global warming thing.

First, I just wanna say that it is affecting both Matt and I already, even though the polar ice caps have not melted and we are not flooded out of our truck. No. Both of us, myself for certain, will be out of the truck long before then. And here's why:

Several states are passing legislation to outlaw truck engine idling. That means that when Matt and I park for the night at a truck stop, rest area or other approved truck parking area, the engine will have to be shut off during our D.O.T required 10 hour rest period.

"Oh, that is wonderful," you may say. "We will all breathe easier, and the sun will shine brighter, and roses and lollipops and all that crap-ola!"

What many of you non-truckers, or 4-wheelers as Matt likes to call them, fail to realize is that we actually live in these trucks, and in order for the interior of the cab to warm up to temperatures comparable to the ones in your own bedrooms at night, the engine must be running. You know, like in your car for instance.

Now to be fair, I should point out that most states will allow the trucks to idle when the temperature drops....TO 40 DEGREES!!! Other states will only allow idling at 32 or even 25 degrees or less! Now ask yourselves, how cold does it have to get outside before we turn on the furnace in our own home? And at what temperature do we set it? How warm do you think it gets in a truck with the engine off when the outside temperature is 40 degrees? Not very. And how rested will we be after sleeping in the freezing cold? Do you really want us on the road after that?

Technology has been very slow to catch up to the chicken-little-global-warming-hysteria. Yes there are things called APU's (auxiliary power unit) that attach to the sides of trucks which handle the interior cold and heat admirably. In fact our company has installed them on some of the older trucks, while Freightliner and International have sold us new trucks which have in-cab heaters that don't require engine idling. Problem solved, right?

NO! The APU's have these really expensive air filters which collect a lot of pet dander and hair and then require expensive maintenance. So expensive, in fact, that our company will not allow pets in trucks that have APU's. The same goes with the new trucks and their in-cab heaters. NO PETS ALLOWED. So Matt and I will be idling our old truck whenever we feel it necessary, and skirting the law in our outdated idle-only heat and A/C source, risking fines of between $300 and $500 per violation. The only alternatives would be to get a hotel room every night at $75 a pop ($60 + $15 pet fee, that comes to around $2,250 per month, and NOT reimbursed by the company), or running over our legal D.O.T. hours of service to get to the next idle friendly state and risking fines of $1,000 or more and months of imprisonment, OR sleeping with the engine off and catching pneumonia and even possibly freezing to death. Did I fail to mention that within 2 years most of the anti-idling states will no longer allow idling at ANY temperature? I will have to vacate the truck and return to the shelter, or Matt will have to find a local driving job in the middle of a nasty recession (which will not improve anytime soon if Obama imposes his Nazi-like Green Plans on industry).

Factories in third world countries and cow flatulence produce more green house gasses than us trying to keep warm at night. If these attitudes of idiot state legislators continue and more stupid laws are passed, trucking will become just another job that Americans won't do. Add it to the list of picking lettuce, construction, factory work, custodial duties, housekeeping, etc... Do we really want illegal immigrants who cannot speak English driving those big 80,000 lbs semi trucks down our nation's highways? And if not them then who? Ex-felons? Hate to tell you this, but that's already happening. Can you picture an ex-felon in every semi truck? They were felons in the first place because they couldn't control their impulses. Can you picture the road rage element?

Matt and I both love clean air and clear water and believe in a certain intelligent level of government regulation and oversight. But hysterically cramming it down our throats with "the sky is falling" attitudes means that some will be trampled upon in the ensuing stampede. I thought these liberals believed in no one left behind. Only when it suits them, I guess.

Kittychism

Sorry I haven't been posting in a while, but I count on Matt to do the typing while I dictate, and Matt hasn't been doing any typing AT ALL!!! He seems to be thinking about other things these days, and doing an awful lot of reading and stuff. It's all about the same subject: Catholicism!

Yes, it looks like Matt is going Catholic. Who would've guessed? He spends hours praying with that necklace thing with the cross at the end of it, but won't let me play with the beads. He says I'll swallow them. Well, of course! That's the whole point of playing with them.

MATT: It's called a Rosary.

BUSTER: So you took the thorns off?

MATT: It doesn't have thorns. It's just a Rosary... We use it to keep track of where we are in our prayer-meditation.

BUSTER: Like Yoga? I hear you chanting while you do it.

MATT: We aren't chanting. We are praying out loud over and over again, while meditating on the mysteries of faith.

BUSTER: Whodunit's? I love a good mystery...

MATT: I think I need to educate you about a few things---

BUSTER: Don't bother. I'll just watch you. Hey, are you going to have me blessed at that St. Francis Feasty thing?

MATT: I wonder if there's a catechism for cats.

BUSTER: Oh, I did that shortly after I was born. They called it Kittychism.

MATT: Kittychism?

BUSTER: Yup. I learned all about the Seven Scratchposts, the resurrection of the body...nine times, and the indulgences (hairball treats). I was even confirmed at the Church of the Sorrowful Meaooow.

MATT: Who taught you to be such a smart-ass?

BUSTER: (Stares at Matt and smiles)

MATT: I see... I think you're jealous.

BUSTER: And why is that?

MATT: Because I finally came home. I've been wandering the wilderness for years on end, spending most those years angry at God. Now I'm picking up where I left off at age 7, getting my first Communion at Easter Vigil, and my confirmation at Pentecost.

BUSTER: You were angry at God? That doesn't sound good. Glad I didn't know you back then.

MATT: It wasn't good. And I wasn't much fun to be around either, except when I had a few beers in me.

BUSTER: Oh, brother! Okay, I'll try to be more supportive then.

MATT: That would be nice. But either way, I am out of the wilderness and back home where I belong.

A Year In Review

Well, another year has nearly ended. And I suppose I must now do what everyone else does at this time: I must recap the whole miserable year so you can see how awful it was for Matt and myself.

First of all, I threw up a total of 42 times, give or take a vomit. I was on the trans dermal prednisolone, which was rubbed into the inside flap of both ears twice a day....ughh. But a month and a half ago my ears were spared and I am now being forced to endure some pseudo-chicken flavored icky ick blaaaahhhhkkkkk stuff that Matt calls liquid prednisolone that he forces into my mouth with some sort of syringe. Although my ears no longer sting so much, my mouth has lost a great deal of its taste. All that just so I can digest my food. Just feed me mice and crunchy birds and I will be fine. Back to nature...outside into the elements...no, too cold. Maybe in the Spring. No, too wet. Aaahh, the Summer beckons me with its sweet aromas of dumpsters and roadkill. No, too many fleas. Forget the Autumn, too many prankster brats running amok.

Matt and I got an apartment, so no more hotels on our off-time. This means I got me a crow's nest to perch in. That was probably the only really good thing this year, that crow's nest.

Now Matt has a tree that he brought in stuffed in a box. He put it together in about an hour. I never knew you could do that. It had no roots or nothing. Then he put all this shiny junk on it. The junk looks cool on the tree, but no smells, birds, or bugs. He needs to take it back and get a better one. Maybe one with juicy squirrels living inside a knot-hole or something.

We have not heard from batboy in quite a while. He is either hibernating or he's dead. I am hoping for the former so I can have another crack at him. He looked so delicious, like a little angel-mouse (mouse with wings). Yum yum.

So anyway, I (we) hope next year, which should happen tonight sometime, will be better than last year (this year up til now).

"Of Course You Know This Means War!"

From the BBC in Toronto, ON:

[Mice may be responsible for a blaze that killed nearly 100 cats at an animal shelter near the Canadian city of Toronto, officials say.

The fire at the humane society shelter in Oshawa also killed three dogs and some rats that were up for adoption.

An initial report from the fire marshal says mice or rats chewing through electrical wires in the ceiling are likely to have sparked the blaze.

Offers of help have been pouring in from animal lovers across Canada.

"It's unfortunate and ironic that mice caused the fire that killed the cats," Toronto Humane Society spokesman Ian McConachie told the BBC News website.

"Unfortunately, the mice probably perished in the fire as well," he added.

The $250,000 (£137,000) fire is still under investigation by the Ontario Fire Marshal's office.

Mr McConachie said it would be some days before a final report would be released.

In all, only nine dogs, two cats and one rat were rescued in Wednesday's early morning blaze.

They are being housed in a nearby municipal shelter, while volunteers rebuild the burnt-down shelter for the Humane Society of Durham Region. ]

Matt and I are in Georgia now, getting ready to go up to the Toronto area. I will be on guard for any mice with matches and propane or possibly Molotov Cocktails being flung at our big rig, as we risk our lives while adding to Canada's pathetic GNP (while simultaneously shrinking our own trade deficit).

Though I think from recent experience that bats might have been in unison with the waywardly and genetically confused mice creatures that have started this insane war of terror, there has been no evidence to support this hypothesis. If any proof surfaces, I will scratch their little blind eyes out and rip their wings to shreds.

Isn't it strange that a rat was rescued, too? I'll bet the little rat bastard had something to do with it, and I can make him talk if necessary. Perhaps Matt will steer the big truck over to the shelter so I can question him thoroughly.

The grieving process must begin soon...and so close to Christmas.

(I did not invent Pinky and the Brain)

Bat Boy Found In Attic

When Matt and I were passing through town for merely a night’s stay at home, we took only the barest essentials and brought them upstairs in one trip. After we both settled down for the night, I heard some noise coming from the horizontal vent above, but just before, the front door. That’s where the air gets sucked into by the furnace. But this noise was a climbing sound of small feet. AND I COULD SMELL SOMETHING ALIVE and possibly quite juicy, and hear it breathing its little quick breaths of air. I knew immediately what it was ------ a BAT! A male bat, to boot!

Oh, it had been so long since I caught a bat and ripped its little wings off while hearing its little screams, egging me on to rip some more. So I sat below the vent...waiting....and waiting. Finally at about 5am (according to Matt) I started meowing loudly and longingly at the little creature, who straddled the grates staring down at me and thinking he was safe.

Matt could see some figure silouetted on the vent, too, and mumbled something about a mouse. Then the bat moved. He started climbing around on the grate toward his exit. For some reason Matt gasped and uttered "tarantula!" It was pretty early, after all. He ran to the kitchen and got some red container with a squeeze handle and ran back to me. Then he set it down and picked me up and carried me over to the kennel and locked me in! That bastard! Was I to miss out on some juicy, bat fricassee?

Matt started squirting the bat with this awful smelling stuff that obviously made him much too toxic for me to enjoy as a meal, but perhaps not too toxic to tear to pieces. The bat started climbing around to avoid the spray, as he seemed to not like it much. Then he climbed onto the smaller, vertical outside vent (facing the hallway) that Matt could see through the ceiling vent where the bat had been stalked by me. THEN Matt saw it was a bat. "That’s a bat!" Matt said. "I think I got him dizzy," he added.

So Matt took a towel and lowered the ceiling door from which stairs unfolded, and slowly climbed up the little staircase ladder and switched on the light. Apparently Matt forgot that bats avoid light, as his quarry (MY friggin quarry!) crawled up the side of the outside vent and disappeared. With no hole in the wall facing the outside hallway, he must have found a secret passage between two slabs of drywall, making his way to some other lucky cat’s apartment.

Word has it that the maintenance guy took a shop vac into our attic and searched for MY bat and found nothing. So a heavy screen mesh was used to cover the whole outer vent to keep the bat and his very toxic feces out of the apartment. And just to be safe, Matt bought some sticky paper at Walmart to lay around the attic floor next time we pass through again. But if that little fellah makes his way into the furnace air ducts and comes out one of the openings in the middle of the livingroom, I’ll be there. Wherever there is squeaking, I’ll be there. Where Matt sleeps and bats may swoop for a quick meal of blood, I’ll be there. I am a very light sleeper when little sounds are near. I will have my ounce of flesh...someday.

(photo borrowed from Bat Guys)

Trash Of All Kinds At TA's These Days

Sure has been a while since Matt let me post on my own blog!!! He's been obsessed with the election and all, and then angry afterward. I really don't see what the fuss is about. The cat hater lost in the Dem primary, you know the one who gave the cat away to strangers when they didn't need him anymore.

Today we saw lots of trash! First when we woke up at the break of dawn, we looked over to this trash compactor and saw a mountain of trash. Matt asked the lady at the desk when he went in to shower why that was so. She said it broke that morning, yes just that morning (yeah right, look at that mountain) and that repair guys were coming to fix it. Well, we may go back through Oklahoma City to the TA truck stop and check on the progress.

Then we went to Ft. Worth, TX where Matt walked around in circles for a half hour in Cabela's parking lot (exercise or something) and then to Amarillo to another TA. Here we saw more trash. But this was in the form of 14 to 15 year old prostitutes knocking on truck doors and saying "hey baby, yah want some commercial company?" When they got to ours Matt shook his head "no" and they kept walking. Then Matt phoned the police after the girls climbed into a truck, and the police came. Now get this, there were two girls, kinda short, in this guy's truck and the police came and the trucker talked his way out of it. The cop didn't climb inside to search the sleeper compartment where the girls were probably hiding, but stood at the doorway and talked to the driver for a long time. Then the cop left. And the underage girls are still hookers. Go figure. Maybe they snuck out the side door when we weren't looking. But there sure was a lot of trash today.